THIS IS WHAT THE THRILL FEELS LIKE | open

[cyantist]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-size:10pt;font-family:verdana"]Song hums to herself as she paints, using only three colours on the wooden mask that she has carved. The fillings and shavings are still around her, the knife and chisel used to carve it laid to the side neatly besides the three colours of paint - red, black and white. Song knows that she cannot replace all that she has lost - her blades are something that she cannot reforge, Damascus steel was a heavily guarded secret for a reason. Light and strong blades, unable to be shattered, were prized by warriors near and far, and Warsongs had a set of them.

They would not be replaced. They were enchanted to dance with her, floating around her like a halo that allowed her to fight like a demon would, weaponising an ancient dance. She could not replace such magnificent blades, but she could replace other parts of her dance. The masks were one thing that she knew how to recreate, but it would take time and patience to create a full set. The Oni would be the mask that she would start with, face open in a snarled grin with the horns extending upwards.

It was traditionally a male role yes, but Warsongs cared little for gender of any sort. If she had to be a man, then she would be a man for the sake of her dances. Simply to paint the masks and then move onto the next one...

[color=#C9B0BE]

[jericho]

Jericho remembers his sibling, albeit not very well.  In the days of his youth he was always relatively distant from his immediate family for a myriad of reasons, but the end result was always feeling like he didn't know them.  He recalls other clanmates from the islands more vividly than he does his own flesh and blood and he often wondered if he was betraying them somehow.  The ginger tabby thought he'd gotten past that guilt a long time ago, but his sister's reappearance has brought those feelings bubbling back to the surface anew.  It's a much different sensation, facing the family that he hardly remembers and seeing (or in his case, more accurately hearing and sensing) how much they've grown and changed, how much time they've lost.  It's odd and kind of painful and it makes him remember that he wants to know his sister, he simply doesn't know where to begin. 

It's the smell of paint that draws him over, sharp and tangy on his tongue.  His sister's scent follows only after he he nears, less pungent and mingled with that of fresh wood shavings, but he hobbles forth nevertheless.  Jericho knows nothing of masks or blades nor most of which Warsongs thinks; blind as he is, he only knows what his remaining scents tell him.  "What... ah, what are you painting?" the ginger tomcat inquires softly as he pads to a halt.  The Helion keeps his distance slightly, hanging back a pace or two in his hesitance.  He's curious yet not entirely sure of himself, trying to get to know his sister but not sure how to start.  After a pause he decides to begin with a smile, both shy and kind, though his amber gaze is unable to focus on the feline before him.

[cyantist]

[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-size:10pt;font-family:verdana"]replies four days later bc i lost it lmao

She pauses, looking down towards the source of the disturbance and she realises two things in quick succession. One - Jericho is blind. It is something that slipped her mind, lost to the faded memories of her childhood that she barely remembers. She stares at him as she realises, the obvious response of telling him to use his eyes dying quickly on her tongue as she lays the mask down. Her head tilts to the side instead, watching the tentative shy smile. The second thing - Jericho is making an effort to connect with her.

She came to find him, she came to seek out the last connection to the past that she had and deem if it was worthy. But actually trying to know her brother instead of assessing him quickly and efficiently catches her off-guard. She doesn't know why, but it's endearing that someone seems to care about her more than the superficial cold and spiky exterior that she has. Perhaps he simply feels nostalgic and the interest will fade in time, but for now, she feels like indulging him and talking.

[color=#C9B0BE]"It is a Oni mask, created for Noh Mai dancing. Have you ever heard of it before?" She offers, leaving a question open to try and entice some interest in what is possibly her only hobby outside the art of war. Her dances are everything to her, her blood and her mark on the world, be they with the ribbons and the masks or her blades.

[madster]

the boy approached next, dual-colored eyes widened in interest. he was interested in anything, in everything, and so when he heard the voices of warsongs and jericho, he bounded over. this clan was fun! everyone was so nice, and now that he was a real member he finally had a place to call home. he took large strides over to stand next to his blind leader, blinking in curiosity at the tom, before focusing his attention on the woman working on masks.

japanese culture was not foreign to amnia. at first, he thought he'd be going to japan, but instead he ended up in this strange land with no name, but had a lot of little groups within it. that was fine, although he was somewhat disappointed his research had gone to waste. still, it helped him understand what she was painting. oni was a japanese yokai, or demon. how interesting!

"please educate me! dancing is simply marvelous! being able to create art just using your body's movements... it's really something, isn't it? i can fully understand the excitement that comes with creating a costume for use in the dance!" he said, excited, clearly all worked up over something as simply understanding a culture a little more.